Little Lives
by lottielovebuzz
Summary: Enjolras manages to survive the barricade, but nothing is the same. His brothers have fallen, and Marius, the only other survivor, is with his beloved Cosette. But when he meets a young woman who gives food to the poor every Saturday, he finally understands what Marius said years ago; how different the meanings for red and black can really be. Enjolras/OC
1. Prologue

_**Hello! Welcome to my very first Les Mis fic! I'm quite new to the fandom I'll be honest, but I love it so much nonetheless! Anyway, a bit about the story that'll be coming your way. It is mostly based off the film! But some parts from the musical/book/history will creep in, if I'm honest. When there's so many versions it's easy to pick and choose the best parts, don't you think? **_

_**This is an Enjolras/OC fic as well. And my Enjolras is based off Aaron Tveit's role. Though, you can imagine him in your favourite way (I kinda love Ramin Karimloo's performance of him in the 25th Anniversary concert, but that could just be because I love Ramin). So, if you don't like the idea of Original Characters or an Original Character getting together with Enjolras, best to hit the back button now. **_

_**The rating will probably go up to "M" at some point, but I'm not sure when. **_

_**This takes place after the events in Les Mis with a small difference in that Enjolras survives. You won't find out how until a few chapters in, but he DOES survive. **_

_**Anyway, I think I've rambled enough, we'll see after the Prologue whether or not you like it enough to continue reading it!**_

_**Disclaimer - I do not own Les Mis - the book, film or musical (only copies of those anyway, not the actual rights) - but I do own anything else you don't recognise, such as the plot and my OC! Who's not in this chapter! **_

* * *

**Little Lives.**

**Prologue.**

**_11th June 1832; a hospital in Paris._**

A groan. A small, barely there, groan breaks free from his lips. His eyes flutter, trying to open but they're far too heavy to do that. Another soft groan and he moves, his fingers twitching, his hips rolling slightly and his eyes flutter again, and this time, he's determined to open them.

His blue eyes can't focus on anything straight away; everything is blurry and no matter how furiously he blinks, the haze over his sight just won't disappear. And it's not like blinking is that easy, if he's honest. It's taking more effort than it should; than it normally would.

He can't think of why he feels like this. There's no reason for him to feel so groggy; so weak.

He cautiously turns his head to the side, blond curls crumpled beneath his head, clinging with sweat to his forehead, and his eyes land on a candle. That's the only thing that would be producing light and flickering every so often, right?

Yes. It was a candle.

Still nothing comes back to him, not until he sees it. The faint movement of something red in the corner; he has no idea what it is. It's got something yellow on it as well, maybe gold in colour, but he still hasn't a clue what it's supposed to be; what it is.

But that's the least of his concerns, for it comes hurtling back into his mind like a wave crushing against the shore.

_Red: the blood of angry men._

The revolution. The barricades. The ABC. His brothers; the blood, the violence, the cries, the _smell_. It all comes hurtling back to him and he sits bolt upright.

It was a bad move, of course. A shock of pain runs through his body and he falls against the mattress once more, a loud yelp breaking free from his lips as he does so. His hand shoots to his abdomen and he cradles his arm around it, fearing to apply too much pressure but needing some sort of support, some weight on the pain to maybe make it go away.

His hand comes in contact with skin, however, not the cotton of his shirt that he was expecting, and as he looks down, he realises that he's wearing nothing but his breeches, a thin sheet placed over his body to keep him warm. The only kind of light is coming from the candle beside him, and it's not enough for him to see his body; see why there's so much pain shooting through him.

'Hello?' He calls out - or more like croaks - and he hopes it's enough to attract some attention, because surely someone is around; someone must have lit the candle; someone must have been there… someone must have rescued him from the barricade.

He sees a movement from the corner of the room, behind the curtain that secludes him and gives him his privacy.

'Hello?' He calls out again and the figure moves closer to him, and it doesn't take long before it's pulling back the sheer curtain and stepping inside the makeshift room. The person is small in height but their figure is hidden under layers of clothing, so he can't tell exactly what build they have, but just from looking, this person couldn't have saved him from the barricade. They were far too petite.

They wore a brown cap on their head, brown strands falling free and reaching just below their ear.

'Many thought you would not wake, Monsieur.' They inform softly, and their voice is surprisingly gentle and if Enjolras did not know better, he would have thought the person in front of him was a woman, but it can't be - no woman would dress in such a way - so he assumes it is nothing more than a young boy helping out. The peak of the cap atop of the young boy's head is pulled down and obscuring Enjolras' view to their eyes, but he clears his throat as he tries to pull himself up again.

Suddenly, soft hands are placed upon his shoulders and they're gently but firmly pushing him down onto his back again.

'Rest, Monsieur. You've been through a lot; through enough.' The young boy explains, and Enjolras says nothing as he watches the boy dig into a bag slung around his shoulder. He pulls out another candle and lights it with the already lit one on Enjolras' bedside table. The boy then returns to his bag and pulls a small loaf of bread, and after a small moment, he hands it to Enjolras.

'Do not rush when you eat it, but make sure you eat it before it loses its freshness.' He orders. His hands goes for his cap, readjusting the peak and pulling it up a bit, and Enjolras gets a glimpse at chocolate brown eyes before they're gone as the young boy turns his head as someone calls him.

The boy pulls his cap back down and goes to leave, but Enjolras grabs his hand and tugs him back.

'What of the others? What of my brothers?'

White teeth suddenly appear as the boy's lower lip is pulled between them, and with a small sigh, the boy pulls his hand from Enjolras' grasp.

'The sisters will tell you. Good-day, Monsieur. I hope you recover well.'

And with that, the young boy turns on his heel and speeds away, and Enjolras can do nothing but look at the newly lit candle before turning back to look at his body; the new light making it easy for him to finally examine his body and his wounds.

He notices the two bullet wounds that now adorn his abdomen, having been stitched up but not fully healed, and he knows for a fact that it'll scar. He also knows that if he got wounded this bad, the chances of other's making out unscathed - or alive, for that matter - are slim.

'I was informed of your awakening, my child. God has heard our prayers.' A voice draws him from his thoughts, and his his eyes flicker to the source and when he sees who it is, his head bows as he lowers his eyes.

The sister moves forward and then her weathered hands are suddenly under his chin, tugging his face upwards so she can look into his eyes with her gentle and warm green eyes.

'I fear God has abandoned me.' He speaks softly, having no idea why he's admitting this aloud, but there's something about her kind, lined face that's making him be open.

'God never abandons His children.' She answers before she removes her hands from under his chin and moves away. It is then that Enjolras realises she's brought a small bowl and judging from the steam that's spiralling upwards, it contains some hot water.

He's obviously been staring at it with a confused expression on his face, for the sister says, 'For you and your wounds.'

She pulls the cloth from the bowl and after wringing it out, she reaches out and pats it against his forehead.

'What of my brothers?' He questions as the nun places the damp cloth against his forehead, taking away the sweat that had covered him. She brushes his blond locks back and off his forehead, but they fall back a moment later. 'What of the barricade?'

'They have fallen, my son.'

His breath catches in his throat, a sob choking his body and he can do nothing but watch as the sister places the cloth back into the bowl of water, before wringing it out and placing it to his wounds.

Enjolras hisses and it seems to be enough for him to remember that he _can, _in fact, speak.

'Did-' he clears is throat. 'Did anyone survive?'

He's not sure he wants the answer, not when the sister pauses in her cleaning of his wounds and looks at him, her kind green eyes fixing onto his deep blue ones.

'One,' she answers slowly as she places the cloth back into the bowl and then puts it on the table. 'A Marius Pontmercy.'

'Marius?' Enjolras questions quietly, his voice barely a whisper. He takes a moment to think what it means; everyone is gone. Courfeyrac; Grantaire; Gavroche. He can remember now. Can remember how Gavroche's death was the thing that spurred everyone all; made them willing to die. How Courfeyrac died when they ran to the top of the tavern where they held all their meetings. How Grantaire stood beside him as the officers rushed in and he remembers picking up the red flag, then shots were fired. He remembers stumbling backwards; remembers bullets hitting him; remembers tripping and falling out the window, getting caught on the balcony with the flag in his hand.

How on earth did he survive?

But then he remembers, Marius is alive. One of his brothers made it; that was something.

'Where is he? Where is Marius? I want to see him.'

He goes to stand but suddenly everything begins to spin and he falls back onto the bed again.

'He is with his grandfather, Monsieur. He is not here.'

Enjolras' brows furrow. Marius went home? And more importantly, how did Marius make it out of the barricade? He still had no idea how it was possible for himself to make it out of the barricade, never mind Marius as well. But even with that, he has to admit, he's still confused as to why Marius went home. He never really liked his grandfather, why on earth would he go home to him?

'Oh.' Is what he says instead and the sister gives him a kind smile, placing a hand on the top of his head, her fingers getting caught in his blond curls as she moves her hand away from him.

'I can inform him you've awoken, if you wish.' She offers with that kind smile of hers. 'I am sure he will be delighted to hear the news.'

'He knows I am here?'

'Yes, Monsieur, he had awoken only a day after the barricade fell. His lovely fiancé picked him up straight away; eager to get him home.'

'Fiancé?'

'Yes, a lovely lady by the name of Cosette.' The sister informs before she picks up the bowl she had brought and disappears through the curtain, leaving him alone once more.

He sighs as he falls back against the bed, closing his eyes briefly before opening them again and turning his head to the side. His eyes land on the extra candle the young boy lit for him, and with a small smile, he reaches his hand out and slides his finger back and forth through the flame.

He can remember Marius talking about his beloved Cosette; he can remember telling Marius that the barricade - "the cause" - means more than some pretty girl who made his heart flutter.

He doesn't want to see Marius. Doesn't want to see the proof of how wrong he was.

After all, the barricade is gone and the only thing Marius has left is the pretty girl who made his heart flutter.

No.

He can't be here when Marius arrives.

He pulls himself up into a sitting position and throws the covers away, before swinging his legs over the side and standing up.

A gasp breaks free from his lips as he doubles over, clenching his side as his eyes screw up in pain.

Enjolras takes a deep breath before he straightens himself, trying to keep his wince to a minimum. He looks around himself, blue eyes scanning his makeshift room frantically, then he finally notices it, a shirt sitting over the back of a chair. He reaches out and grabs ahold of it, and that's when he notices the blood; so much blood stained into the cotton.

His breath catches on his throat and despite the fact his mind his screaming at him not to put the shirt on, because he knows it'll only cause people to stare and wonder what the hell was wrong with him, he ends up tugging it over his head and slipping his arms through the sleeves. He tugs it over his body but it lies uneven.

He stumbles forward just a little bit as he makes his way over to the curtain, but something stops him and he turns back to the bed with a small frown on his face. His eyes land on the small loaf of bread that the young boy had given him, and with a smile twitching at his lips, he makes his way over to it and picks it up. He brings it to his nose and inhales deeply; freshly made. He'd forgotten how mouthwatering the scent of newly baked bread was.

He hooks it under his arm as he goes back to the curtain, pushing it aside and ducking under it, eager to just get away from here. He no longer cares if he still needs to rest; still needs to heal. He can't be here when Marius gets here, he just can't.

As he makes his way to the window, his eyes land on the red thing he saw earlier, and he gives a small huff through his nose when he realises that it's his waistcoat, and hanging over it is his cravat.

Biting his lip, he sits the bread aside for a moment before he pulls his waistcoat on, feeling better when it masks most of the blood on his shirt, and because the waistcoat was red, it showed no blood at all. He wraps his cravat loosely around his neck, and with a final glance around the room, to make sure no one was about to witness his escape, he picks the bread up once more and continues to the window.

It's not a long drop to the ground, but it's probably higher than what he should be jumping at the moment. Still, he takes a deep breath, hooks his legs over the ledge and with his exhale, he lets himself drop.

His legs give out the second they hit the ground, and he lands in a heap at the bottom of the window, a broken cry being torn from him as he clenches his eyes shut and starts to count to ten, breathing in and out deeply with each number.

'Excellent idea as usual, Enjolras.' He mutters to himself as the pain slowly subsides and he can finally pull himself into a sitting position. He looks at the loaf of bread that escaped his grasp as he fell and with a grimace, he leans over and picks it up again, wiping off any dirt that found its way onto it.

He manages to pull himself into a standing position, and his body appears to be getting used to being upright again, for only a small amount of pain shoots through him this time.

He turns to look back to the window one last time, trying to decide if his idea to leave when he is not fully healed is a good one. He realises that it isn't, but it doesn't matter. After all, his brother had gotten away from the painful memory of the barricade, and he didn't need Enjolras hanging around him, the constant reminder of the failure and his fallen friends; after all, Enjolras was the leader of "The Friends of the ABC"; the one who started it all.

Marius had a chance to start anew, and Enjolras knew he wouldn't have a chance in hell doing that with him hanging about.

So, yes, his decision was definitely the best one.

Maybe not for himself, but for everyone else, and after all, that's all Enjolras ever thought or cared about.

* * *

_**So, what do you think about that? I know my OC didn't make an appearance, but I wanted to start the story just shortly after the barricades fell; give a brief preview that Enjolras survived, even though it doesn't show you how or that. **_

_**Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it, because I enjoyed writing it, and I'm really proud of it, and you have no idea how long it's been since I've been able to say that about my writing! **_

_**If you enjoyed it, please let me know in a review! If you didn't, I'd like to know where I went wrong (unless it's just because of my inclusion of an OC). Either way, let me know what you think of this in a review! I love hearing from my readers!**_

_**Oh! And I have a Facebook page that you could like to keep in contact with me and keep up to date with updates and progress of chapters and such! Or, alternatively, I have a tumblr, incase you prefer that site. Either way, links to both are on my profile incase you want to do that! ;D**_

_**Hopefully, it won't be too long before the next chapter is up!**_

_**Until then!**_

_**~Charlotte.x**_


	2. Chapter I: Perhaps It's Fate?

**_Hello! I'm back with the first "real" chapter of this story, where we actually get to meet me OC, Amelia. If anyone read the sneak peek for this story, then it appears in this chapter, but with a little tweaks to fit the actual storyline now. _**

**_A big thanks to the reviews I received and the follows! It really means a lot to me! _**

**_Now, before I let you get onto the chapter, I just thought I'd let you know that this will be the last update until after November. I'm doing NaNoWriMo this year and having that, plus my college work is already seeming to much, never mind adding still writing these stories. So, yeah. I feel a little bit bad because I've only just posted this, but I hope you understand and I'll be back as soon as the 30th November ends. If I'm doing anything, I'll be planning this story out more, but probably - most definitely, in fact - won't be writing it.   
_**

**_Okay, so now that's been said: onto the chapter!_**

* * *

**Chapter I: Perhaps It's Fate?**

**_One year later; 24th June 1833; Paris. _**

'It is not proper, Amelia.'

The young woman rolls her eyes, leaning down to pick up another basket of vegetables, despite her father's words.

'Papa, I have spent the majority of my life fighting propriety,' she retorts, sending him a kind smile, her brown eyes that are exactly like his sparkling with amusement at the flustered expression on his softly lined face. 'I thought you would have realised that by now.'

Her father closes his eyes for a second, shaking his head minutely as a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. He tries to deny it for as long as possible, but soon enough, he's smiling as wide as his daughter.

'You are just like your mother.' He mutters softly as he starts to walk in order to keep up with her, casting just a small disapproving glance to the basket she continues to carry in her hands.

'Good. That means I will marry a man as wonderful as you, Papa.' She teases, her smile widening impossibly further as she crosses the threshold and steps into the kitchen, placing the basket onto the table.

'And speaking of marrying… did any of the gentlemen from the dance last night interest you?' Her father questions, his shoulders slumping when he notices the way his daughter freezes as she starts helping the two servants put away the food.

'Papa, if I did not know any better, I would say you are growing tired of my company.'

'Of course not, my dear, it is just…' he trails of with a sigh when he watches Amelia pick up what he thinks is the now empty basket and turn to face him.

'I'm going for a ride, Papa.' She calls and before he can protest, she is gone from view as she leaves the kitchen.

She heads straight for the stables, where she finds her horse already waiting, tacked up and she smiles at the young stableboy, she pulls herself up on the powerful horse and after readjusting her grip, making sure she still has a firm grasp on the basket, she kicks it into a walk and heads from the stable block, vaguely aware of her father watching her go.

The ride to the town is short and finished before she can really enjoy it, but this wasn't a pleasure ride; this wasn't just a little canter through the woods to blow off steam. The weekly delivery to her house was finished, meaning she had to start her own little weekly delivery.

She turns her horse into the alley, watching as all the people on the streets pick their heads up in hope, but cast down when they realise who it was; the daughter of Monsieur Cotillard, one of the wealthiest men in their side of Paris.

With a sigh, she dismounts her horse, tying him up on the piece of rope that she put there the very first time she started doing this.

She runs a hand through her brown hair as she sits the basket of bread onto the ground, shooing her horse's curious nose away before she turns and walks over to the small wooden door. After knocking it three times, leaving a beat, then knocking it twice, the door opens.

'Maria.' Amelia greets, smiling as the woman stands aside to let her enter her house. She hands the blonde haired woman a loaf of bread as she does so, having picked it up from her basket before she headed for the house.

'I still say this is dangerous, Mademoiselle. What if you get caught?' Maria questions, even as she sits the loaf down on the table and heads over to a small bundle of fabric. She picks it up and walks over to Amelia, handing it to her with only a small amount of hesitation.

'Then I get caught. One life for feeding several families? I would say that is something; we do not need another barricade.' She reminds and Maria pales at the mention of the barricade. She nods her head before turning and picking up the loaf.

'I shall feed the girls; if you need anything, anything at all, Mademoiselle, let me know.'

Amelia offers her a smile in thanks as she watches the woman go, and when she is completely alone, she starts to undress herself. Her dress gets thrown carelessly over the table, as does the first layer of undergarments. She then tugs on the trousers, before picking up the white cotton shirt that's baggy enough that, when paired with the brown jacket she pulls on next, it conceals her breasts.

Lastly, she takes the cap and after bundling up her brown locks, she tugs it on, hiding everything that would give her away as a young woman. She regards herself in the cracked mirror and smirks when she notices that all curves, all softness has suddenly disappeared and she could pass for a young boy, in the middle of his teenage years.

'I will be back shortly, Maria.' She calls before she leaves through the door, walking over to the basket and picking it up, with a final stroke of her stallions white blaze, she tugs her cap further down her head and heads into the busy streets of Paris.

To be honest, she doesn't really know why she still dresses like this now. Her cover amongst the peasants was blown a long time ago when they discovered that she wasn't a young boy, but in fact a young woman. They just had no exactly _who _she was. But it was for safety, she had a feeling her father would go insane if she found out what she was doing, and she had to hide herself from the officers that roamed the streets; vicious and power-abusing. Too often she's had to duck away from them as they patrol the streets.

But this, this was would be worth getting dishonoured for; was worth getting in trouble for. The look of hope and gratitude on the people's faces as they finally see her emerging from the shadows, the basket in hand showing that she had food to give, and wasn't just making her mid-week rounds to make sure everyone was okay.

They know better than to gather around her; know better than to attract attention to her, but it's hard to remember that with their stomachs rumbling and their children crying loudly from the pain of hunger.

They also know that on these days, they do not get to converse with the young woman who keeps them alive. She has no time for that on these days, trying to feed as many families in such a small frame of time.

Conversations were saved for three days later, when they're in between the next drop off for food.

'Here.' Amelia whispers, slipping a small loaf into the already waiting hands of the woman, who whispers her thanks and starts breaking the bread in order to hand chunks to her son and daughter.

She continues like that, passing off a loaf to every family with only a soft word, until she reaches one family in particular.

'How is the babe doing?' She questions, sitting down her basket as she leans down to crouch in front of the young mother, cradling her child to her chest and bobbing him back and forth.

'He's getting stronger, thanks to the food you bring us.' The woman responds, reaching out with a hand to grasp ahold of Amelia's. She gives it a squeeze and Amelia swallows hard, fighting back the stinging that was now appearing in her eyes; the last thing these people needed was to see her getting emotional. They had enough problems of their own; enough family of their own to comfort without having to deal with Amelia as well.

'I am glad to hear that.' Amelia says instead, pulling her basket over to sit in front of her. She pulls out a loaf and hands it to the young woman, before pulling out the only bottle that is inside the basket. 'Full of milk; for you or the babe, whoever needs it most.' She whispers, tucking it into the mother's hand with a quick look sideways, making sure no one else saw.

She didn't need them thinking she was showing favouritism either.

'Merci, Mademoiselle.' The young woman whispers in reply, sitting the bottle and loaf in her lap as she reaches up with her free hand to wipe away tears.

'No need for thanks, Sara.'

Amelia grabs Sara's hand again, squeezing it once before she put it back onto the handle of her basket. She gives the young woman one last smile before she goes to stand, but before she can even think about moving, a voice is behind her, striking her silent and still.

'What have we here?' A voice questions and before Amelia can do anything, someone is grabbing her arm and hauling her upwards, off her knees and back onto her feet. The moment is abrupt and her grasp on the basket's handle loosens as she gasps in surprise; the bread inside comes spilling out and onto the wet, dirty cobbled street and people start flocking towards them, eagerly reaching for the bread; grabbing and fighting over it and this isn't how it was supposed to be. There was enough bread there to feed a good few families, now people were going to pick up as much as they could and not share it.

'Let go of me.' She hisses because she could still get a few slices of the bread she packed today, and she could still give it to the small children that were huddled up in the corner of her own street. But the officer still holds onto her and she watches as the finally loaf of bread disappears when someone picks it up and hurries away with a quiet, 'Merci, Mademoiselle.'

'_Mademoiselle_?' He questions incredulously, eyeing Amelia with a raised eyebrow before his eyes land on the dark cap that adorned her head and contained her brown locks. With a small smirk, he raises his hand and grabs ahold of the peak of the cap before he tugs it off her head, her chocolate brown hair spilling over her shoulders and down her back.

His eyes widen as he takes in the woman in front of him; he couldn't see it before, her features looked different with her hair framing her face, but now… now he could see it. He immediately let goes of her.

'Sorry, Mademoiselle Cotillard. I did not know.'

Her eyes narrow as she grabs the cap from his hold, and she shoves it back onto her head, not bothering to bury her hair under it again, now that her cover was blown.

'But if it was anyone else, you would have arrested them? How hypocritical, officer.'

'It's not safe on these streets; the plague -'

Amelia rolls her eyes, 'It iss coming to kill, I know. And these people will be its first victims because they are too weak to even try and fight it off! Dot you not see what I am doing?'

The officer says nothing in reply and only leans down to pick up Amelia's dropped basket, before he hands it to her.

'I am sorry, mademoiselle, but if I catch you again I will have to tell your father.'

He turns to leave but Amelia grabs ahold of his arm, locking her brown eyes with his blue ones.

'Do what you must, officer, but if you tell my father, I will tell him everything; including the way you handled his daughter. He may not be happy with my actions, but I know for a fact he will be furious at yours.' She warns before she releases his arm and readjusts her hold on her basket.

'Good-day, monsieur.' She bids before she turns and starts walking back to her horse, and as soon as she can she unties the might beast with a small smile. She mounts him but as she turns him to leave, she notices a man standing in front of her.

'You wouldn't happen to know a Marius Pontmercy, would you?' He questions as Amelia stops the horse from moving any further forward. She doesn't say anything or make any movement, just continued to stare at him, taking in those curly blond locks and his plump lips that are pulled into a charming smirk. 'It's just, you remind me of him; rebellious and rich but dedicated to the cause.'

'"The cause"? You knew him from the barricade?' She enquires, effectively answering his question that she did indeed know a Marius Pontmercy and when she realises this, she gives a small huff as she tugs on her horses' reins as he starts to fidget.

His smirk widens, 'Mention the name Enjolras to him the next time you see him; tell him his brother misses him.'

And before Amelia can say anything else; tell him that Marius has spoken of him before, he's turning away from her, running out of the street and then a carriage blocks her view of him, and by the time it passes, he's gone.

But Amelia isn't about to let him get away that easy - too curious to let him get away that easy.

'Monsieur!' She calls, clicking her tongue and digging her heels into her horse's side. 'Monsieur!'

She canters onto the road, narrowly dodging an oncoming carriage, but she pays no heed, desperate to catch up. And no man can outrun a horse.

'Are you trying to get yourself killed?' He demands the second she pulls up beside him, having stopped running when he heard the shout from the carriage driving and turning just in time to see the horse and woman miss the four horses pulling the carriage.

'I would've asked you the same questions after you left your bed at the hospital!' She replies as she pulls her feet free from the stirrups and hops down, landing in front of him with a soft thud.

'How did-?' He trails off when she pulls the cap off her head, pulls her hair up and tucks it under the cap as she places on top of her head again. '_You_? You were the young boy from the hospital?'

'Not exactly a young boy, but yes. Did you enjoy the bread?' She smirks as she pulls the cap from her head again, letting her brown locks cascade down over her shoulders once more. She tucks the cap into the deep pockets of her brown coat before raising her eyes to look at him again, sighing softly when she sees the wide-eyed look he wears.

'Why were you there?' He asks, his shock apparently wearing off with his words as his hand goes straight for his abdomen, where Amelia knows that scars will be.

'It is a rather long and complicated story, I am afraid.'

He smirks at her, looking from side to side before shrugging, 'I have time, Mademoiselle, if you have.'

She cocks her head to the side, biting her bottom lip and before she can reply whether or not to stay, he's adding something else.

'I would actually love to know how I made it from the barricade; if you do not wish to tell me your story, at least tell me that.'

Amelia releases her bottom lip when he says this, and she nods her head.

'Come, Monsieur, if anyone earned the right to such stories, it is you.'

He scoffs softly but says nothing else and Amelia decides not to bring it up. She grabs ahold of her horse's reins and starts walking, leading them back across the street in silence, only looking to the side to make sure Enjolras was following her.

They make it back to Maria's door and after Amelia ties her horse up once more, she walks over to the door and gives it the same knock she did earlier.

'Should I ask?'

'Probably not.' Amelia replies softly, sending him a kind smile before Maria opens the door, freezing when she notices Enjolras there.

'Mademoiselle?'

'I need to use a spare room, Maria, this gentleman and I have a lot to talk about.'

Maria says nothing for a beat, her eyes flickering between Amelia and Enjolras with a small frown etched upon her face. She closes her eyes for a second before she nods her head in agreement.

'Have the kitchen, Mademoiselle. The children and I will head to the back room.'

Before Amelia can protest, because she doesn't want to kick the family out of their own house, Maria is picking up the young babe and grabbing the other child's hand and leading them through to another room. Amelia sighs before turning back to Enjolras, signalling with her hand the table and chairs, which still have her dress thrown haphazardly over the top.

She gathers them up in her hands, casting an apologetic glance to Enjolras.

'Sorry, Monsieur, my father does not know and I need to change here.' She explains as she moves the dress to another counter and sits down at the table, next to him. 'Which story would you rather hear, Monsieur?'

'Both,' he answers straight away, but after a moment a smile pulls at his lips and he continues, 'though, finding out why you were watching over me sounds more interesting than how I was pulled from the barricade.'

She chuckles, 'Then we have different opinions on interest.'

He chuckles with her but stops when he notices the wariness on her face.

'If you do not wish to share -'

'It is not that, I just fear you may feel some blame; blame that does not belong to you.'

'It involves the barricade?'

'In a sense.' She replies before she shakes her head. She was just going to worry him if she doesn't start explaining it; _really _explaining. 'In regards to the barricade, it is only the day you decided to build them...'

Amelia sighs as it all comes hurtling back to her; the memory that she tries so hard to forget.

_'I am here, Mama.' She whispers as she pulls her hand that's still gripping her mother's tightly closer to her face, rubbing the knuckles of her mother's hand against her cheek before Amelia presses a soft kiss to them. _

_Her mother says nothing in return, but Amelia knew she wouldn't. She knows her mother is not conscious; knows she hasn't been for a few days now and to be honest, she's actually surprised that her mother, Renée, is still alive. _

_'How long do you think she has, Sister?' Amelia questions, her voice barely a whisper as she places her mother's hand back onto the bed, still gripping it tightly with one hand as her free one comes up and wipes a stray tear away. She takes in her mother's face; how __pale__ her face looks, so pale it looks transparent. Her brown hair is dry and thin, several bald patches adorning her head, that's normally covered with a head of shiny chocolate brown hair, much like Amelia's. _

_She's cold as well, freezing, and no matter how many blankets Amelia places over her; how many candles she lights; how many times she rubs her mother's hand, she just doesn't warm up._

_'It is hard to say, my child, but I do not think she will make it through the night.' _

_Amelia had expected that answer, but it still doesn't stop it from feeling like someone has just stuck a dagger in her heart. She chokes on a sob as she bows her head, leaning forward to press her forehead to her mother's hand, another tear trailing its way down her cheek, over her plump lips before falling onto the bed her mother lies on. _

_She nods her head once, twice, before she straightens herself, sniffling back anymore tears as she wipes away the already fallen ones again._

_'I am sorry, my dear, but she will be with God soon.' _

_Amelia clenches her brown eyes shut, another sob breaking free from her lips and another one follows when she feels the sister place her hand on top of her head. That's when she breaks down completely, because it's such a familiar act. No matter what she was feeling - happiness, sadness, anger - her mother would always sit her hand on her head for a moment, before she would start brushing it through Amelia's brown locks; it was always different depending on what Amelia was feeling._

_If she was happy, her mother would start to play with her hair; plait it or put it in a bun, just play with Amelia's hair to make it nice. If Amelia was sad, she would just comb her fingers through Amelia's hair, whispering the right comforting words that would cause Amelia's tears to stop before they could really fall. And if Amelia was angry, her mother would just place her hand on top of Amelia's head and not move it, the weight of her mother's hand and the calmness that her mother always seemed to radiate just seemed to work on calming Amelia down, and remove the red haze from over her eyes. _

_But this hand now, this isn't her mother's hand and it just isn't the same. _

_She lets her tears flow freely as she moves forward, burying her head into the bed and tightening her hold on her mother's hand, almost as if it would wake her up and make her better._

_'I wish to stay with her until… I __need__ to stay with her until…' _

_'Of course.' _

_Amelia doesn't lift her head from its place on the bed and she's not sure how much time passes, but a sound distracts her and she lifts her head, turning towards the stairs where the pounding of boots is sounding from. When she lifts her head, she sees her father standing at the door, a worried expression on his face, his brown hair that normally sits in a side-shed is in disarray and Amelia frowns at how __dishevelled__ her father looks._

_'Papa?' She questions as he strides over to her and grabs her hand, hauling her from her seat beside her mother's bed. 'Papa!' _

_'We need to leave, Amelia. We need to get out of here.' _

_'What? Why? Papa, we cannot leave her! She is not going to make it through the night!' She protests as her father starts to drag her to the door, but determined, she digs her heels into the ground and tugs, breaking free from his grasp. 'Papa! Take a moment and explain! I may go willingly then!' _

_'A revolution has begun! At General LeMarque's funeral. Schoolboys trying to overthrow the state and make the world a better place; the call themselves the Friends of the ABC.' _

_Amelia chuckles, 'A play on "abaissés". Clever.' _

_'That may be, Amelia, but the National Guard are here; an innocent woman has already been shot and barricades have arose around the town. I do not think anyone would harm the hospital, but Amelia, if both sides are willing to fight till the death, they may not recognise what they are doing; please, my dear, come with me. Do not make me lose both of my girls tonight.' _

_Amelia turns back to her mother, and whilst every part of wants to stay by her side until she goes, she knows she has to go with her father. After all, her mother wouldn't even know she was there, but her father would definitely know she wasn't. _

_She extends her hand and with a sigh of relief, her father grabs ahold of it and starts to rush them out of the hospital. Amelia gathers her skirts so she doesn't trip over them, because they're running now, moving so fast that she's sure she's going to trip and fall. _

_The second they're on the street and hurtling towards the carriage, Amelia starts to look around herself and notices the hustle of the street; how hectic and crazy everything is looking. _

_'When did they plan this revolution? Five minutes ago?' She questions as she settles down into the carriage, her head turning to stare out the window as she watches everyone hastily throw down furniture for the barricades. _

_'From what I can tell, yes,' Amelia's father, Harvy, retorts and Amelia's head whips around to look at him with wide eyes. _

_'Wait! Is it not the Friends of the ABC that Marius left home to join?' Amelia questions a moment later, just after she turned back to survey the mayhem as the carriage makes its way through the cobbled streets. Her father's breath catches every few seconds as he worries whether or not they're going to be let through; if they reach the rebels, they may decide to take the carriage for their barricade; they had no qualms using LeMarque's coffin, after all. _

_She turns to her father and sees him slowly nod his head, 'I saw him on top of the carriage carrying LeMarque with another young boy.' _

_A worried frown appears on Amelia's face as she shakes her head and turns back to look out the window._

_'What have you gotten yourself into, Marius?' _

'I stayed home until we got note that the barricades had fell.' Amelia concludes, looking back up to meet Enjolras' gaze. 'We returned to visit my mother, but it was too late, she had already passed. I found myself asking if there were any survivors from the barricades and they told me about Marius and you. After just losing my mother, I wanted to make sure no-one else died; Marius had already woken up but you had not and I just… I just wanted to make sure you did.'

She runs a hand through her hair.

'The bread was originally for the families on the street, but after you awoke I felt you needed it as well. I returned the next day, just to make sure that you were well - that is when the sisters told me you had ran away.' She fixes him with a reprimanding gaze, one that makes him look down to the table for a second before his head shoots up at her next words. 'I had visions of you lying dead in a ditch, Monsieur, what were you thinking?'

His eyes narrow at her words, because who is she to judge him? He only tries to do good and that's what he did. Marius is happy and married; people have moved on from the barricade and there are still people out there who want to help.

'Helping Marius move on and forget. He would never have managed that if I were still hanging around him. The rebellion; the barricades… those were _my _fault and I didn't want to be the constant reminder of the friends he had lost. I ran; I did what was best.'

Amelia says nothing for a beat, biting her lower lip as she tries to think of a response to that, but in truth, she couldn't. How could she argue with that? Marius had come home, with wounds and scars, yes, but he was still home. And he has Cosette, the love of his life who's never gave up on him; standing by his side through thick and thin, and helps him save the poor everyday by giving out coins on their daily walks.

'He thinks you are dead. He grieved you, after spending a week looking for you, that is.'

'He searched for me?'

'Of course! You are his friend, Monsieur, you told me to say his "brother" missed him.'

'I do not wish to uproot his life, not if he is settled.'

'Enjolras,' she says, speaking his name for the first time and even though she notices the look of shock on his face, she continues, 'Marius has never spoken ill of you; he speaks of how passionate you are, how honourable, how honest, how determined. He never says anything bad, and it is not just because he does not wish to speak ill of the dead, the moment he woke up and knew you were still alive, it was all he said. Even to this day he brings you up with loving and kind words.'

Enjolras turns away from her, his blue eyes falling to the side as his brow furrows. He reaches up a minute later to run a hand through his blond curls and Amelia tracks the movement with a small smile.

Her eyes then land on the clock and her eyes widen.

She gasps, 'I really must be heading, Monsieur, but think over my words.'

She pulls the bundled fabric of her dress into her arms, deciding to get redressed in the stables instead and she heads for the door.

'When will you be back in town, Mademoiselle?'

Amelia stops with her hand on the door handle, and turns back to him with a small smile on her lips.

'Because you want to know how you escaped the barricades or because you wish to see me again?'

He reaches up and scratches the back of his head, running his fingers through his blond curls before he turns to her, a smile on his lips.

'Both, but more the latter.'

Amelia gives a chuckle, even as she feels a blush appear on her cheeks, 'By myself? Three days from today.'

She pulls the door open and walks over to the black horse still standing obediently. After untying him, she pulls herself up onto him after tucking her dress into the bags placed on her horse's rump.

She clicks her tongue and turns back to Enjolras, who's standing beside her, looking up at her with curious and studious eyes.

'And it is Amelia, Enjolras, not "Mademoiselle".' She states before she digs her heels into the horse's side and takes off back home, leaving Enjolras staring after her with a small smirk on his face.

* * *

_** Okay, so we have yet to find out how Enjolras escaped the barricade, but we learnt a little about Amelia didn't we? I had to rewrite half of this because the flashback was originally just Amelia talking and I thought that was okay, but after reading it over again I realised it would just be boring, so I decided to do the flashback and well, I hope it's okay.**_

_**We'll probably find out in the next chapter how Enjolras escaped, but like I said earlier, I won't be updating until after November!**_

_**So, don't forget to review and please don't forget about this story because it's going to be so long before the next update! And don't forget about my Facebook Page (link on my profile) if you want to know when it WILL be updated or for sneak peeks and such. :D**_

_**Until the next time!**_

_**~Charlotte.x**_


End file.
